Stand in the Rain
by Nalana
Summary: Hermione had scribbled the earlier words almost two years ago to the day. She flinched at the memory. Yet, she couldn’t forget that night. She wouldn’t.


Disclaimer: I don't own anything for Harry Potter.

A/N: This was originally written as a song-fic to "Stand in the Rain" by Superchick for a contest at The Hideaway (http://thaelixir. . Due to different things I wasn't able to submit it. If anyone would like the original version, let me know and I can e-mail it to you.

* * *

Bent over a piece of parchment, Hermione Granger scribbled fiercely away. Light from the candles about her desk cast a warm glow over her. The caramel and squash lighting making her feel warmer then the security the blanket around her shoulders provided from January air that leaked through the poorly sealed windows of her bedroom. 

A light tapping on her door made her hand shake slightly, the ink in her quill sloshing into two little circles on her otherwise neat paper. With a click of her tongue, she dabbed at the spots and continued writing. A tender hand on her shoulder and the soft tink of a mug being set down beside her didn't phase her pace.

"Honey, you know you have lights here at home. You don't have to use those." The soothing voice of her mother didn't break her out of her trance. "You've been at this all evening. Why don't you take a break for a moment? I brought you tea."

When the young Granger didn't stop, her mother relented. Sighing, she headed towards the door. Hermione registered something in back of her brain her mother said about talking.

A few moments after the door slung shut, Hermione's hand froze. Rigidly placing her quill in its inkpot, she pulled her jeans-clad knees up to her chest with black kissed hands. Her jaw tightened fiercely. Quick and heavy breaths dragged in and out of her lungs. The thirteen year old felt her sinuses burn, but refused to let the building flood pass.

Her struggle ended in vain. Dark splotches began to litter her parchment. Angrily she ripped open one of her desk drawers and pulled out a slightly yellowed lined piece of paper. Less practiced handwriting aside, the paper's contents were identical to those on the notebook sheet.

Hermione had scribbled the earlier words almost two years ago to the day. She flinched at the memory. Yet, she couldn't forget that night. She wouldn't.

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOo

Feet pounded into the dust, tossing it behind well-worn sneakers. Heart pounding rapidly, the young girl fought against aching lungs as she headed further into the heart of the city. Not many people paid attention to the shaken girl. A teenager cursing at her was the only response she got at all when she bumped into his shoulder.

Her body protested profusely against this constant motion. But she wouldn't stop. Panic, fear, and the need to get as far away as she could were the only things she truly felt. If she stopped they'd catch up to her.

Those she feared had stopped at the schoolyard gates. Logically she knew that. An eleven-year-old Hermione couldn't grasp that as much as she tried.

Pushed to their limit her legs finally gave way as she stumbled into an alleyway. She hissed as she felt her shoulder slam into the brick building wall. Her knees throbbed. The pain was nothing compared to remnants of the earlier threat.

She could still hear her classmates sneering as they kicked dirt from the primary school's playground into her face. One of the bigger girls slammed her foot into her side as she begged them to stop. All the while they hissed insults at her.

"Not so tough are you now! Don't worry. I'm sure YOUR parents can afford to get you fixed up."  
"Or maybe you'll just figure out a way to do it yourself, won't you? You can do just anything!" The second of the trio chimed.

"And if you won't the teachers will for you! " The third chirped.

"You won't miss any of this hair!" Hermione screeched as she felt strands on her head being ripped at. "Might even make you look like a person instead of an ape. After I drill those beaver teeth back up into your head!"

Her sides ached. Her eyes were still puffed and her throat dry from the grime shoved at her. Her nose felt awkward. It might be broken, she thought to herself half-heartedly.

As deeply as the words had cut, Hermione hadn't cried in front of them. That would truly let them win. She had let them torment her until she got the chance to run. It wasn't until her feet were flying that the tears swiped across her cheeks.

Sitting amongst the bottles and animal waste the weight of what they had done crushed onto her shoulders. She remained comfortably numb to it, however, as she struggled to her knees. Those girls had made her feel like trash. But she wasn't, and she would not lie encircled with it.

Clawing the building's edge she pulled herself up. A cramp climbed up her right leg. A scream of frustration howled from her lungs. The glass around her exploded. Candy wrappers combusted. The girl's eyes slammed shut in a futile attempt to block this out. Uncontrollable instances like these were what had sent her classmates over the edge.

Panting, she forced her shoulders and muscles to relax. She had always tried to be a rational person, even in the worst of times. When she was five and had fallen off a piece of playground equipment… her mother had been watching her friend's child at the time… her first thought as she looked down at the gash in her knee was not how much it hurt, but what would be the best way to move without blooding the sand or getting the wound dirty.

Right now she had to get home and cleaned up before her parents got home. She would figure out a way to explain the bruises that would surely form later. Right now, all that mattered was turning and getting to her house. With that she limped to the nearest bus stop.

The passengers of the community transport didn't question the battered child. Most kept to themselves. Avoiding the occasional glance, the eleven year old lost herself in her thoughts.

I never did anything to them, she thought. I might be a freak, but I never hurt them. Tears started to silently fall across her cheeks once more.

The bus had stopped a few blocks from her family's flat. Stiff and cold, it took the child a little longer then she anticipated getting into her house. She sent quick thanks upwards that she had forgotten to tell her parents they only had half a day of school that day. Glancing at the clock she realized how little time she had before her parents came home, regardless.

As quickly as she could manage Hermione made it up to the bathroom. Dashing in, she washed her face as carefully as possible. Ridding herself of her ripped and dirtied shirt, she grabbed another shirt just in time to hear her parents' voices as they came into the residence.

"Hermione, dear! We're home." She heard her mother call as they nearly collided as the child turned out of the room. "My goodness! Look at you! What happened?" she gasped.

"The front stairs of the school were slippery. I took a tumble on my way home." She said the first thing that came out of her mouth. Her mother's instant reaction was to go into the bathroom for the first aid kit.

Hermione found herself wrapped up in blankets on her bed. Her mother couldn't convince her to go to the doctor. As a compromise she had been sent to rest. The silence made her head swim. She couldn't get the voices of the bullies out.

Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be a stupid mindless girl who only cares about being popular? She asked herself, half disgusted at her own thoughts.

Why can't someone just see me as ordinary? It's not my fault others are incompetent and ruthless. I'm not the one who let them lead their lives.

There has to be more then this. If only I could get away from here. Then everything would be better, she reasoned foolishly.

Hermione Jane, she scolded herself. Running away would only make things worse. Things would just start all over again. That's what THEY would do! Think! There has to be something else you can do…

Hermione flopped down onto her pillow and groaned. She closed her eyes again. This was too much.

Wait. Why is there something wrong with me? Her eyes snapped open.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to know things. There's nothing wrong with me. I may not be pretty, but they're not especially model worthy either. Who are they to judge me, anyway? I never chose my parent's profession. I'm proud of them anyway!

Standing up, she walked over to the new writing desk her parents had bought for her recently. Lifting off a copy of Greek mythology, she snatched a composition book and flipped it open to the middle of the book. Setting the nearest pen to herself, she began to make a contract with herself.

In the paper she scribbled down the thoughts that she had to. She made promises to herself. She swore she would not let this happen again. At the same time she knew that she wasn't made of stone.

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOo

It was that night she declared that she would never portray herself as less then what she valued herself at. She was going to pursue what she was good at, and she would try to be happy in this. People like the schoolyard bullies would always remain. She hadn't lived this long without realizing that. But she was through running away from them.

In her contract she allowed herself to cry, to be upset, and to be angry. Hermione also forbade herself to ever work less then one hundred percent. That way no matter what they said about her it would never be because of something she could have prevented. She swore to stand tall.

The letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had come that summer. While it came as a shock to both her parents and herself, it had provided them with answers to long lingering questions. For the student-to-be it also gave her a chance to truly try out her new self-pact.

Knowing first impressions could be vital she set out to learning all she could about this magical world before actually entering it. This had proven useful on her first day submersed in the wonder of it all. Her ambition, thirst, and determination had led her to be one of the brightest of her kind. For that she was immensely pleased.

The goading hadn't ceased. Her drive was often mistaken for conceit. That had brought her enough trouble in her first year. It had almost cost her the two people she considered to be her best friends. In the end it was worked out.

Then there had been the horrible previous year. Draco and his posse had stirred up an old cauldron. "Mudblood" had almost become privately acceptable to speak again. The degradating metaphor had pierced her deeply. It had taken some outside encouragement to remind her of her goal.

But here she was safe and sound at her desk two years later from that horrible night. The stained parchment was a reiteration of her contract, a renewal. It was the one day, the anniversary, each year she let herself go and remember what had happened to her.

More importantly, it was the commemoration of the day she had pulled herself together. This time served as a good reminder that she had pulled through tough times. It was the acknowledgement that there would be many twists, turns, and bumps still ahead.

If she kept pressing onward, Hermione knew she would eventually find her way out. Looking to the promises of the future and casting a reminder of mistakes long past were the only way to grow. This was her time to take root and sprout.

Suddenly Hermione broke out into laughter. It was ironic. If she stumbled across those same girls that had cornered her ever again she would have to make it a point to thank them. She wondered how they would react when they found out the day that was meant to break her only made her twenty times stronger.

For all the pain it had caused, she loved it. Hermione decided that she wouldn't give the day up for anything. It was what had given her the ability to be the person she most wanted to be: plain, bush haired, big toothed, book warm, know-it-all, and one of the wizarding world's future greatest citizens, Granger.


End file.
